


The Story of the Scars

by parchmentandpencils



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25727380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parchmentandpencils/pseuds/parchmentandpencils
Summary: Hermione reveals the truth of the scar on her arm.
Kudos: 11





	The Story of the Scars

Hermione sighed as she walked through the halls of Hogwarts in her eighth year. Harry and Ron had gone straight onto Auror Academy, so she was alone. She rubbed her arms, hoping to ward off the chill, wincing as the cloth rubbed against her scar, which felt raw even after months.

She headed straight for the Head Rooms, which she shared with Draco Malfoy, who was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t seen the scar yet, which she was grateful for as she sat at the mini-kitchen counter and gently massaged in some salve. Glancing at the clock, she jumped up and out of her seat, putting a bandage on her arm that she’d charmed to be cool at all times, heavenly for her arm. The bandage went halfway down her wrists, which she was thankful for—if it went all the way to her hand, it’d cause questions she wouldn’t answer.

With that, she went to Charms.

* * *

She was about to roll her sleeve up to perform the spell, but remembered the bandage just in time and refrained.   
  
She didn’t see it, but Flitwick gave her a sharp look and resolved to tell McGonagall afterwards.

* * *

After the lesson, Filius watched Hermione leave in concern. He retreated into his office and threw some floo powder into the fire. “Minerva McGonagall!”

Minerva answered, kneeling next to the fire. “What is it, Filius?”

He didn’t smile. “We need to arrange a meeting.”

Her face didn’t fall but rearranged itself into a look of concern.

”Who?”

”Miss Granger.”

She nodded. “I’ll get Pomona.”

* * *

Hermione was wishing more than ever that her boys were with her, recalling the moments of torture. She often had these flashbacks, but Harry and Ron were always a floo call away. Now they had to cut off contact for a couple of days for training, and she’d never felt lonelier. She cradled a mug of tea while she stared straight ahead. She was jolted out of her trance by someone sitting in front of her, and she shook her head to focus on the Professors.

Filius, Pomona and Minerva exchanged a look over Hermione’s head. Something had obviously happened.

”Miss Granger—Hermione,” Minerva began. “Filius has raised a few concerns over something he saw in class today.”

Hermione remained outwardly calm, but she began to panic inside. _What if they saw?_

“Would you like to roll up your sleeves, Hermione?” He asked.

She scooted away. “Um, it’s a little cold in here, don’t want to catch anything,” she lied.

Pomona sighed. “Please?”

Hermione’s eyes darted around the room. “I can’t-“ She started to stand up when Minerva caught her wrist.

”Please, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly, and nodded, rolling up her sleeve so they could see the bandage she hadn’t taken off yet. She heard the sharp intakes of breath. They obviously thought she was self harming. She didn’t want to dissuade them, so began to pull her arm back from the grip that still held it.

”We just want to check if they’re infected,” Filius said quietly, as if she’d bolt like a startled deer.

She looked away and let them unwrap the bandage, not wanting to see the looks of disgust. She felt her eyes welling up and wished with all her heart that Harry and Ron were there. Then came the gasps as they took in the “Mudblood” scar.   
  


“Hermione...” Pomona said, trailing off as no one could think of anything to say.

”Leave it,” she muttered.

”How?” Minerva choked out. “Who did that?”

”Bellatrix Lestrange,” Hermione said flatly. “She tortured me and carved into my arm. Besides, it’s fine, she’s dead now.”

”It’s not fine,” Filius butted in. “If you’re still in pain then it’s not fine.”

”I’ve had it for months now. Besides, it was probably with a cursed blade or something, I didn’t check.”

The Professors’ faces softened as they looked at Hermione, and Minerva was the first to speak. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

”Who would have done anything? We were in the middle of a war. What’s one...What’s one Mudblood’s struggles going to do? We were the cannon fodder, the ones the pureblood supremacists hated. The Ministry had been taken over, and they were introducing the new Muggleborn laws. They would have laughed with glee to find out I was tortured.”

Pomona’s face fell as she considered the implications of that statement, mirrored by her two colleagues.

”Do you... do you hate the scar?” She asked hesitantly.

”I used to abhor it, thinking it was a mark of my weakness, a mark of shame. It was like a flashlight shining in my face, saying “this one here is a Mudblood, kill her as soon as you can.” She paused, thinking of what to say next. “It’s...complicated. I still hate it, the scars are ugly, reminding me of my weaknesses. But at the same time, I’m proud of my heritage. Even if my parents are Muggles, they raised me to be the very best I can be, and I can outshine as many as I dare, even being a Muggleborn.”

The Professors looked at Hermione in a sort of sad pride before Filius spoke. “We’re so proud of you for getting through this, and we’re sorry for intruding on you like this. My office is open for you if you need to vent or sit there in silence.”

With the promise, the other two Professors left as well.

When the portrait shut, Hermione let out a strangled sob, clutching the photo of her, Harry and Ron. The tears wouldn’t stop coming once she started, cleansing tears that made her feel clean again, made her feel like she could carry on until it was okay not to.

She was healing.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! I loved writing this, and even though there is angst, it’s easily one of the better things I’ve written.


End file.
